Heir of Scales

Far to the east, in the shadow of the Mountains of Mercy, lay the forest of Mehergot. It was an old forest, with trees tall enough that a mounted horseman could ride confidently and without fear of striking a branch.

The old forest was silent, as few dared to venture so deep into the wilderness. Even wolves and wild cats steered clear of the ancient part of the forest, for they knew what slept in it. The low rumble of its snores echoing off the cave walls reminded those that stumbled into its domain to be ever vigilant, and to run if that sound was to cease.

In his mossy cave, Vertiralaax slept soundly and without worry. He was old, wise, and knew no creature in this forest or beyond could harm him. His hide was strong and thick, tested many times by fleshling blades, all breaking upon him like water. For six hundred long years there was naught that could weigh on the old dragon’s mind and so, he slumbered, until his last meal was a distant memory and the hunger roused him to begin feeding once more.

As the dragon slept gently, an unfamiliar sound fell in his ear. At first, he just put it off as a few noisy squirrels causing trouble and being too impolite to remember their place. But the sound continued, and Vertiralaax was forced to lift his head, shake off the grains of sleep, and listen. It confused him, intrigued him. It came from no creature he could recognize. No bird, bear, squirrel nor any other living thing he knew made such an annoying wail, not even the strongest gusts of wind whistling through the branches sounded as wretched as this.

Finally, the dragon shook himself awake and lumbered out of his cave, carried forth by curiosity. He couldn’t see the source of the disturbance, but it came from the south. He stretched out before venturing further to wake his muscles, flapping his wings a few times to clear out the dust that had settled around his home and himself, freeing his blue and green scales from the collected dirt and testing the strength of the leaves’ hold on nearby trees.

He lumbered heavily through the undergrowth following the sound, at first annoyed, but as he neared the source, he stopped to look around. He took a long steady breath, and began to walk slowly, remembering to give the forest’s inhabitants time to scurry away as he approached, and ensuring he didn’t catch and break any branches with his horns; he was the lord and steward of this forest, and no incessant noise could make him forget this truth. He had spent many years watching these trees grow, nurturing them until they stood tall enough to act as shade as he explored his domain. Damaging any of the trees could mean having to wait long years for it to heal and regrow, and the forest’s master had no desire to test his patience today.

The noise came from a clearing with a stream where the dragon often went to quench his thirst. Among the mossy rocks, he found a sight most peculiar: a small fleshling screaming as it pushed against a larger fleshling who was laying face-down on the ground. The small fleshling was so distraught it didn’t even notice the old dragon walking towards it with the silence and curiosity of a wildcat.

As he got closer, he saw an arrow in the larger fleshling’s back. Its feet were covered in mud and its tawdry shift covered in patches of dirt and blood. The smaller fleshling, no more than a hatchling, seemed healthy enough from its wailing, although thin and filthy.

Vertiralaax felt his heart sink as he beheld the sight laid before him. He had long since retired to the remote wilds to avoid the fleshlings and their wars. It appeared little had changed since he last set his eyes upon the un-clawed folk. A nearby village had obviously been the latest victim in a long tradition of war and raiding. This poor wretch had been injured in its escape, fleeing until it no longer could, to preserve the small one.

The old dragon had no desire to meddle in the affairs of the fleshlings, and started to turn away, his curiosity satisfied. Just then, the screaming stopped, and the dragon peered around to see what had changed.

The fleshling was looking away from its parent and right at him, tears streaming down its small round face. But, to his surprise, the small one held wonderment in its innocent eyes, not the fear he was expecting.

Vertiralaax’s past interactions with the fleshlings mainly resulted in false courage melting to fear. Many times did he face greedy fortune seekers clad in their steel hides come to steal the dragon’s treasure and slay its keeper. Every time the fleshlings had come, they realized too late there was no shiny gold to be had, and that a dragon’s fire was too mighty for the best steel they could forge. A dragon’s treasure lies not in shiny metals or jewels, but in the ways of leaf, stone and fire, things the fleshlings had long since forgotten and cared not for.

But now, an innocent had been brought before him, whether by will or by fate. Vertiralaax glanced to the dead fleshling and felt a pain stir in his heart. He turned back around and watched the small one’s eyes attentively, seeing that they betrayed no fear. He approached the fleshling slowly, until he stood on the opposite end of the stream from it. It was only three winters old or so by the dragon’s estimate.

“What is your name, small one?” asked the dragon with his smooth and powerful voice. He hadn’t spoken the fleshlings’ tongue in a very long time and had to contort his mouth and tongue in strange ways to enunciate correctly. He was met with an unknowing stare, so he tried again, this time pointing at himself proudly saying “Vertiralaax,” and then to the small one while stating, “and your name is…”

“Willy,” responded the fleshling while pointing at his own chest, staring up at the dragon before him, craning his small neck up as high as he could. Then, the small one’s eyes began to water as it turned and pointed at the fallen fleshling and asked pleadingly, “Mum?”

Vertiralaax reached over with his paw, gently nudging the body of the deceased fleshling, figured that this ‘mum’ had probably been dead for a few hours already, even though he was more used to seeing burnt or freshly dead fleshlings.

“She is gone, William,” answered the dragon solemnly.

“Gone?” asked Willy, not fully realizing the nature of death at his young age.

“She is asleep, and naught will have her rise again,” explained the dragon as simply as he could. Seeing the weight of realization wash over the fleshling’s eyes, and tears forming, Vertiralaax added, “She was brave to have come this far to safeguard you. I will honor her memory as is fitting, if you will allow me.”

Willy wiped away his tears and nodded between sobs for the dragon to do as he willed. Vertiralaax picked up the ‘mum’ body gently and removed the arrow before laying it down under a large willow. Then, he set about gathering stones and built a cairn to house its remains. Finally, once the last stone was gathered and placed with care, he began humming in low tones, in a tongue forgotten to all but dragons, and vines grew to cover the cairn, the song ending just as the vines bloomed with many-colored flowers. Most stories recall dragons as only knowing fire, gold, and death, but none remember these other magics that dragons know.

The hatchling’s sadness was slowly replaced by wonderment, and he crept closer to watch what the dragon was doing. It now stood beside Vertiralaax as though it were a normal thing to do and beheld the dragon’s work. Willy brushed the moss and flowers on the cairn softly back and forth mumbling, “Mum sleeps in here now”.

Vertiralaax nodded, “No one will ever hurt her again, William. Now, I will take you back to your village. Where do you live?”

Willy’s eyes welled up again as he looked around and realized he didn’t know where he was. The mossy undergrowth was as alien to him as he was to the forest. “I don’t know… I don’t know…” he repeated, on the verge of another wail.

“No need for tears, small one. No harm will come to you under my care,” Vertiralaax sat for a moment and considered his options. He couldn’t leave the fleshling on its own in the wilderness, that would be cruel. He had no desire to burden himself either however, meaning he would have to discover where the fleshling had come from himself and return him post haste.

The reptilian lips curled into a kindly smile. “Come small one,” purred the dragon as he opened a clawed palm wide enough to carry a horse.

“Up?”, asked the small one excitedly while pointing into the sky. “Like a birdie!”, it beamed.

Vertiralaax snorted at the notion. “Like a dragon!” he proclaimed loudly. He extended his opened palm to Willy once more, and the fleshling, wriggling a sharp talon with both its hands for a moment, drew itself up and settled in for the journey.

The dragon stretched his mighty wings out fully, and with magnificent ease, they were off the ground and above the trees, rising quickly. Willy grabbed on to the claws as hard as he could, and once they leveled out, he dared to peek over the edge of the palm. He let out shouts of amazement as he beheld the ground below grow wide like a vast green carpet stretching on further than he could imagine, and that carpet of vegetation was bordered by mountain ranges to the east and north with rolling hills giving way to vast plains to the south and west. He was flying like a bird! Or rather, like a dragon.

As the two circled the mountain to the north, the dragon adjusted sharply on the wind, veering to the west – a tactic he learned many years ago to avoid leading potential pursuers to his lair. The cool and crisp air of altitude felt good in the dragon’s lungs, having been in the humid air of his cave for many years. His attention was drawn away from the joy of weightlessness when he heard Willy rambling on incoherently below in his talon. He managed to pick out a few questions here and there, answering them as best he could, to keep the small one from crying again.

“What’s your name?” asked the fleshling, still staring at the scenery and playing with his foot.

“I, am Vertiralaax,” answered the old dragon proudly and with his best intonation. Fleshlings so young forget quickly, it seems.

“Verti?” asked the fleshling.

The dragon sighed. So much was lost to the fleshlings, even their ability to understand dragon speech. “I will allow you to call me thus, William, for you are very small and cannot yet comprehend my grandeur.”

“Where are you from?” continued Willy without considering his host’s answer.

He hadn’t thought about his home in a very long time. He had hatched in a cave not unlike the one he now lived in, though that cave was in Thrognae, far to the east, and he had to leave those lands when fleshlings became too numerous and too bold to live comfortably. The forests there were far older than the one he lived in now, and he did his best to have his current home match his old one. “I am from these woods, where I found you,” decided to answer the dragon.

Questions about his age, what he liked to eat and all manners of other odd things that come to a child’s mind arose. Vertiralaax answered them as patiently as he could. Though an annoyance, he welcomed the chance to speak to another being. The forest creatures were such a bore, most had little more to say than ‘food’, or ‘danger’.

The green of the trees eventually started giving way and turned to a patchworked landscape, as trees and farmers’ fields gave way to one another in succession. The dragon’s keen eyes eventually noticed a plume of smoke in the distance, followed by several others. He remembered there had once been a village in these parts, but he had stayed away from fear of inducing the fleshling’s need for hunting him once more. He flapped his wings hard a few more times, just enough to rise higher and make himself appear as an odd bird in the distance.

“Is this your home?” asked the dragon.

He felt Willy move left and right in his paw and leaning forward to take a better look. He squeezed his paw a little more to ensure the fleshling didn’t throw itself over by accident. He circled the village several times to give his ward time to orient itself.

The child pointed excitedly to a thatch-roofed building near the edge of town, “That’s my house!”

Vertiralaax looked more attentively at the house indicated and saw armed men bringing out sacs of food and anything of worth from inside. He looked to the streets and saw them littered with bodies, and painted with red. Several houses were burned, and the goods being looted were brought and loaded onto wagons near the village square. The survivors were gathered and tied together as their homes were being emptied by the raiders. Even from far above, their fear and despair were palpable. Nothing ever changes.

“Those are bad men,” whispered Willy under his breath at the sight below, clearly afraid of being seen even from so far above.

“Yes, they are,” replied Vertiralaax sadly. He couldn’t leave the small one here either, or it would be killed or left to fend for itself once more. Those sad survivors would either be carried off and sold or left in the husk of their village to starve on what crops weren’t destroyed. An orphan would be the least of their worries in the best-case scenario. He thought briefly of swooping in and dispatching the brigands, but he quickly shook the idea out of his mind. Fleshlings were rarely grateful to one another and would unlikely thank a dragon, possibly even turning on him. Many, even if well-intentioned, would spread the story and cause would-be dragon hunters to come after him. A fool’s errand, such an outcome would be.

“It is dangerous here. I will take you to my home, for now.”

There was no comfort to be given to Willy as the two circled back around and retraced the flight they had just taken, still unseen by those below. By the time they had arrived back at the cave, the fleshling had cried itself to sleep, and the dragon could feel the wetness of the small tears between his scales.

Vertiralaax gathered some moss and made a bed for Willy, setting it down gently. A thought then crossed the dragon’s mind: what do fleshlings eat? The answer seemed obvious yet jarring as he realized he had begun caring for the small being as if it were one of his own hatchlings, and was, at least for now, responsible for his well-being.

Knowing the fleshling was safe in the cave, the dragon slid out to see what food he could find. Hunting in the forest would be difficult as the trees rendered his wings useless. Deer and elk would be prize catches, but their legs were too strong and swift for the old dragon to catch reliably. Predators of lesser beasts were too smart and their senses too keen to be hunted. They would leave the area with haste as soon as they smelled the dragon on the wind. Smaller game was plentiful, but hardly worth the effort at the best of times.

As he walked and considered his options, he came upon a peach tree bearing fruit. He inspected the juicy treasures for a moment and smelled them. They were ripe. He ate a few to satisfy his own hunger, then carefully picked a good dozen while sitting on his haunches, grabbing them with the tips of his claws carefully so as not to break their delicate skin and placing them in his open paw.

Satisfied with his find, he headed back to his cave. He arrived just as Willy was starting to wake; looking around confusedly and trying to piece together where he was and what had happened. Their eyes met once more, and once again there was no fear to be found, only remembrance and the sadness of those memories.

“I found food for you,” said the dragon as he deposited the peaches before the fleshling, hoping to distract Willy from his troubles.

Willy looked at the round fruit at his feet and seemed confused. He poked at one and questioned, “Apple?”

Vertiralaax snorted in laughter at the question. “No, William. These are peaches. They are to apples as a fleshling is to a dragon. Apples are ordinary, pedestrian and unremarkable when compared to the nectar that is a peach. Have a taste,” said the dragon as he indicated the fruit with his nose.

Willy considered the fruit for a moment, then picked one up, studying it and turning it in his hands, lifting it up to the sunlight. He tentatively brought it to his nose and smelled it, then his face seemed to relax. The fleshling then rubbed the fruit on his tunic and took a small bite. His eyes lit up with delight instantly. He devoured the fruit surprisingly fast, considering his small mouth and blunt teeth. Vertiralaax laughed heartily when Willy got another peach and gobbled it up just as fast as he had the first, his whole face covered in the sweet, sticky juices.

Willy fell back into his bed of moss, holding his full belly and looking quite satisfied. He stared at the cave’s ceiling for a moment as his stomach settled from eating too fast. When he felt better, he sat back up and looked at the dragon, who had been waiting patiently for him to speak, as a polite host would.

“What now, Verti?” asked Willy as sadness and worry overtook his tiny gaze.

“Vertiralaax, if you could, and what do you mean?” Reprimanded the dragon.

“Vertur… Veerteeree…” tried to pronounce the fleshling, the complexities of the dragon tongue lost to its kind.

The dragon sighed, “Very well, call me… Uncle Verti… for now at least.”

“Uncle Verti!” chained in Willy, some of his worries coming lighter with the familiarity. “What are we gonna do now ‘cuz we, we… we are not the same,” he spread his arms wide to imitate wings as he strung together his thoughts and spoke in his rendition of the fleshling speech.

“No, that we are not, fleshling,” responded the dragon. He thought for a moment of what to do next. The fleshling’s village was no longer an option. He could take it to another village, but that would doom the young one to the life of an orphan, a street urchin. If it was lucky, a kind family might take it in and teach it a trade, but he doubted the nobility of the fleshlings’ hearts.

Then, an idea sprouted in his mind: if nobility was lacking in the hearts of this hatchling’s kind, he could instill such concepts in this one before allowing him to return. Perhaps, if he did right by this one fleshling, he could in turn do right by others in the world at large one day.

“I will be your guardian, William, should you wish it to be so,” said Vertiralaax solemnly.

“I can stay here?” asked Willy. “We eat peaches every day?”

Vertiralaax laughed. “When they are in season, my boy. You have much to learn yet.”

“You will teach me, right Uncle Verti?”

The dragon laughed, “I cannot teach you to be a man… but I can teach you to be a dragon.”

Seasons passed in Mehergot and as the leaves changed over and again, so did the boy raised by the old dragon. Teaching a fleshling in the ways of leaf, stone and fire was a constant test of patience for Vertiralaax, but he persevered, as did his protégé.

In time, Willy learned to speak to the plants as he had once seen his mentor do, not commanding the forces of nature to bend to his will, but instead asking for their help. He grew tall and strong, at least by fleshling standards, but most importantly he grew wise and had a keen mind that steered away from the evils of his kind, such as greed and violence.

He learned to hunt as a young dragon did, on the ground, and often seeking the counsel of wild cats, whom his mentor told him were the best hunters besides dragons themselves. He learned to stalk his prey patiently, hiding in bushes, remaining still as the boughs of the trees themselves, and only leap out once he was certain of his success. Most important of all, he learned that hunting was meant for survival and should never be abused, and his prey’s sacrifice should be honored, no matter how inferior it may be to himself.

In time, Willy came to know the forest he called home as one does a parent, always providing what is needed, be it food, shelter, or a lesson when it is needed. The depths of Mehergot could never be fully known, not even by Vertiralaax, but the fleshling learned not to fear the unknown, but to respect it instead. ‘You do not know if there is reason to fear something until it has shown its teeth to you. Until then, it is but a neutral thing, as a stone on the ground could catch your foot and make you fall,’ repeated the dragon over the years, until Willy grew wise enough to understand the meaning of his words.

One day, teacher and student decided the time had come for the boy, now a dragon in heart and mind, to return to his kind. Both knew their parting was inevitable, and both loathed it equally.

“The time has come for you to rejoin your kind, William,” said the dragon, barely disguising the rattle in his voice.

“I know, Uncle. I can’t stay here forever, even though I’d like to.”

“I taught you everything I know, much of my ways, and what there remains for you to learn must be taught by time and experience themselves. Now your turn has come to teach the fleshlings. You will be a fire among them, warming and safeguarding them, tempering them as they temper their steel.”

Willy sighed at the task he had been appointed. “It is a difficult thing you prepared me for, Uncle.”

Vertiralaax laughed, “Difficult. Not impossible. You are strong and stubborn; I have no doubt in your success. However, should you ever find your will faltering or wish for my counsel, remember that you and I are connected.”

Willy looked confusedly at his mentor. He hadn’t been told of this before now. “Connected? How?”

More laughter from the dragon. “We have forged a bond, my boy. Such bonds are not broken by time or distance, even by death if it is strong and true. All you need do is call upon my name within your heart and we shall be able to commune.”

Willy nodded, though his face still furrowed in confusion. “Thank you, Uncle. I will do so if I ever need your help.” He picked up the bag he had made and filled with the food he would need for his travel, mostly peaches, and started to turn away. “The road will be long; I’d best set off now.”

“William!” exclaimed Vertiralaax when the young man had reached the first trees. “Remember that no matter what comes to pass, you will always have a home here.”

Willy turned around, nodded, and waved one last time at the old dragon, then turned back away quickly with a hurried step. He didn’t want his uncle to see the tears streaking down his face. He stopped by his mother’s cairn on his way out and paid his respects to her, leaving a peach on the moss-covered stones.

His heart felt a little lighter with every step as he left the forest he had called home for nearly his entire life until now. Fear and doubt progressively gave way to hope and a growing sense of possibility. What the future held in store for Willy was a mystery, but that unknown seemed even more exciting as he first left the forest’s shadow and set foot upon the road and picked a direction to follow at random.

So busy was Willy’s mind with the endless possibilities before him that he never thought to look up, where he would have seen a familiar pair of wings still watching over him.